Unlikely Places
by Azrulai
Summary: Post-war. A lighthearted fic with a lot of pairings and just as much fun. Pairings in order of importance in the story: HG-DM, GinnyW-BZ, HP-PansyP, PadmaP-GeorgeW, RonW-LL. Love can be found in Unlikely Places...
1. Introductions: 1 through 6

**A/N: Okay, this is VERY different from what I usually do. It's post-DH, it's practically angst-free, and it has more than one pairing (in fact, it has five pairings that I've never written before…), but I'm EXCITED!!**

**More Extensive Summery: Yes, there's a marriage law, but don't write it off yet- it has nothing to do with blood purity, and they let you choose your own spouse, for Merlin's sake. But as it happens, some of our favorite characters have two months to find someone and get married… This is gonna be fun. **

**Pairings (brackets- not going to be focused on as much): **

**Hermione/Draco - Ginny/Blaise - Harry/Pansy **

**(Luna/Ron, George/Padma)**

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**Unlikely Places**

Some of Britain's witches fainted when they got the memo, but Hermione Jean Granger was not one to faint. Then again, she had never been one to boil over with uncontrollable anger either, and that she did do.

_Wasn't the point of this war to gain FREEDOM? What did __**I**__ fight for? What in Merlin's name gives __**them**__ the right to decide this? _

In fact, after letting out a scream of annoyance to herself (which was actually quite audible to others), she marched right up to the office of the Minister of Magic to complain. Of course, it wasn't all that unusual for Hermione Granger to be in the Minister of Magic's office. The two of them were, naturally, on first name terms and had quite a good relationship in general, Ms. Granger being the top researcher of the Dark Arts for the Ministry.

Not that anyone would have guessed as much at the moment.

"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor were you thinking!?" she was yelling rather forcefully, her wand raised.

"Herm- Hermione- It wasn't me!" The poor man looked rather frightened, and with good reason- Hermione Granger was a very powerful witch, and known to have a formidable temper upon the rare occasions when she unleashed it fully.

"What do you mean it wasn't you?! You have _veto power_. Don't you dare start saying it was the committee!"

"But it _was_ the committee! I can't veto something that everyone else thinks is a good idea!"

"Like you didn't agree with it wholeheartedly until I came barging in here. You people have no right! This doesn't affect a single one of you! Ugh, I've had enough of this." She crushed the memo into a ball, slamming it down on the desk in front of the Minister before turning on her heel to storm out of the room, ignoring the astonished looks of the secretaries in the next room.

What Ms. Granger would never admit to was that the real reason she was so opposed to the new law was not so much her moral indignation as the fact that she simply was not ready to move on quite yet. Her relationship with Ronald Weasley had left her rather fragile emotionally even though she was a very strong woman, and she was most certainly not ready to start dating again. Besides, Ron tended to be a jealous sort of guy, and seeing her with another man so soon would likely cause a rapid deterioration in the patching-up of their former friendship. Right?

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The paper that had been left forlornly on the Minister's desk slowly unfurled as he looked down at it.

Ministry of Magic  
Interdepartmental Memo: January 17th, 2007

Due to the drop in population caused by the recent war, the Ministry has decided to promote an active effort to repopulate Britain's wizarding community.  
All wizards and witches of childbearing age (this is tentatively defined as between the ages of 20 and 35, see attached for more details) who have not married must do so in two months, before the seventeenth of March this year. The witch must be pregnant by the one-year anniversary of the marriage.  
An optional matchmaking service will be available to those who request it.  
This can be deferred in cases of those who are currently completing continuing education programs and does not apply in the case of single parents. Please report to the newly established exemption office on the seventh floor to complete the necessary paperwork.  
Thank you in advance for your cooperation.

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Draco Malfoy, drinking his morning coffee and opening his post in the parlor of his flat not far from where Hermione Granger was, was quite as angry as she had been. And he was, similarly, not one for angry outbursts. He almost spit out his coffee, but that would have been very undignified (even though there wasn't anyone else in the room with him), so he ended up in a rather violent coughing fit instead.

Draco Malfoy was not ready to be tied down to any one woman, let alone _marry_ her.

Naturally, he began thinking of ways to get out of this. He still hadn't gotten used to not being able to call upon his father to change rules for him whenever it was necessary.

He could find someone who would marry him without any emotional attachment (perhaps Pansy Parkinson, if she hadn't changed since school) and allow him to go on with his life as if they weren't married, and then he'd divorce her later… no, that wouldn't work, kids were a requirement. The whole point in fact. Eww, Draco didn't want a little brat to take care of…

He could just leave the country for a bit. Wouldn't be the first time he'd been on the run from the law.

Draco had been a sort of mercenary during the war. Everyone had expected him to follow his family tradition and guard his position in the Deatheater ranks with his life (quite literally), but Draco really didn't care about blood purity that much. Don't get the wrong idea- he never wholly supported the Light either. You see, never having been really cared for, Draco could not bring himself to really care about anyone but himself. His priority was his own well-being, nothing else. So he had played both sides, swaying toward one or the other depending on who was winning, and that was how he made it through the war years. Of course, few people approved of this system.

Yes, leaving the country sounded like the best option. Perhaps he could get Blaise to come with him. They could go to the States. He always had wanted to visit New York.

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Blaise Zabini was walking into the living room of his flat wearing only a towel slung around his hips, pointing his wand at his hair to dry it, when Draco Malfoy's head popped into his fireplace.

"Blaise! Get over here!"

"Jeez, man, why can't you warn me? What if I hadn't been wearing the towel?"

"Eh, nothing I haven't seen before. Besides, this is important. I assume you haven't opened your post yet…"

"Of course I've opened my post, and I know what you're talking about. But I don't understand why you're so worked up over it. I was planning to try and find someone to settle down with anyway; now it'll just have to be a bit sooner than later. I'm twenty-seven, for Merlin's sake!" he pointed out.

"Well, I'm twenty-six," (Blaise scoffed) "and the point is… you've got to be kidding me!"

"No joke, for once. Come on, you've slept with enough women for two lifetimes. It's time you found yourself one you'd be willing to sleep with for the rest of your life."

"Not now it isn't. I'm going to the States for a while, I think. New York City. You're not coming?"

"Naw, man. I think I'll do the right thing for a change. Keep me posted, 'kay?"

"Fine, be that way." Blaise shook his head as Draco vanished. For all his pomp and circumstance, that man could be quite childish sometimes.

As for Blaise, well, he had meant everything he had said to his best mate. He was getting sick of the lack of meaningful relationships in his life. The problem was that he needed to get out of his on-and-off (and mainly nocturnal) relationship cycle with former Slytherins and other Deatheater spawn. He needed someone new. Perhaps that matchmaker thing was a good idea…

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"This is _not_ okay!"

Ginevra Weasley was pacing her mother's kitchen, the crumpled remains of the Ministry's letter dangling from her tightly closed fist.

"I think it's wonderful, dear. It'll make all five of you settle down, finally. I know you put your lives on hold for the war, but you aren't teenagers anymore."

The five she was talking about were Ginny herself, of course, her brothers George and Ronald Weasley, and their practically adopted siblings Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Those two would always be considered part of the family by Mrs. Weasley, even though it had now been made painfully clear that they were never _officially_ going to be.

You see, it had always been assumed that Ron would marry Hermione and Harry would marry Ginny. Unfortunately (from Molly's point of view, anyway) neither of these "perfect couples" turned out to be perfect for one another.

Ron and Hermione had dated on and off for years, and it took them far too long to realize that in the end they were hurting each other far more than helping. They had terrible fights- parts of both of their flats had been blown up at some time or another. In the end (which was very recent) they split for good on reasonable terms, but it was still a bit awkward between them. They were going to need some time to patch up themselves and their friendship, but Ginny was sure they would make it through.

The one upside was that the whole experience had brought Hermione and Ginny closer together. They had always been more of polite acquaintances than friends, but Hermione had needed a female to talk to and she didn't exactly want it to be one of her coworkers.

As for Harry and Ginny, that was a simpler story. When they had begun dating again after the war years, they had realized quite simply that what they had had for each other had been more of a mutual infatuation than love. In the end they were better off as friends, practically brother and sister, than as lovers.

They had parted on remarkably good terms, and they still met frequently for coffee and were very good friends. And Ginny knew she didn't love him, not like that. But she did need a little time- not to mourn the loss of Harry, but to mourn the loss of a dream.

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"I'm going for coffee with your sister and Hermione," Harry Potter yelled into his flat, "you coming?" He figured it was worth a try.

"No, thanks. Gotta catch up on this paperwork…" his roommate, one aforementioned Ronald Weasley, called back from somewhere in the depths of the rather large two-bedroom. Harry sighed and shook his head as he grabbed his jacket and left the house.

He clutched his long raincoat to his tall frame as he walked against the rain, but he didn't have an umbrella to speak of. He barely ever used an umbrella since the war, unless he was wearing very fancy clothing- he had come to enjoy the feeling of the rain in his face.

"So, how are my two favorite women?" he inquired affectionately as he entered the café where Hermione and Ginny were waiting for him.

Hermione barely smiled. "You have two months to find a new favorite woman, apparently," she said pointedly, "and I, for one, am going to spend a little time in the States. I think this is ridiculous."

"Oh 'Mione, you wouldn't leave your job... would you?"

"Sure I would. They owe me like five months of vacation anyway. I know how dependant they are on me, it's not like they'd ever let me go. And don't you dare try and tell me that you wouldn't do the same thing if you weren't the wizarding world's perfect poster boy."

"You're the poster girl, anyway."

"You're not denying it." Harry turned to Ginny, who had been calmly sipping her cappuccino through all of this.

"How about you, Gin?"

"I'm thinking that rooming with 'Mione sounds like a good idea right now."

"Oh come on, you guys are going to leave me all alone with Ron?"

"Eh, you'll be clubbing every night looking for your soulmate. I'm sure you'll have lots of fun!" Ginny said. Harry nodded his head in the direction of the window of the café, then leaned in to whisper conspiratorially.

"Think the girl with the camera outside could be theone?"

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**Okay, that was a nice long chappie to start us off and give you some idea of the format of this fic. There will be a bunch of stories going on (five, to be exact), but they will be rather interconnected. Next chapter will introduce the other four main characters, and then we'll get into the actual plot. Unlike my other stories, this will be lighthearted and happy and not involve a lot of death. Please let me know what you think!**


	2. Introductions: 7 through 10

**A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews! That was the best initial response I've gotten for a fanfiction so far, so I hope I can live up to it with this one. **

**P.S. You'll notice that I've switched the least important pairings. I just got an idea, you'll see it in this chapter. Pretend it was always that way (-:**

**P.P.S. You'll also notice that I've changed the title. That's because I am very bad at titles (this is not the first time I've changed one after posting it…) and the original one was crap.**

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Pansy Parkinson was leaving the country. Well, isn't that a trend lately?

Pansy was not, however, a stranger to long and spontaneous vacations. Her job as a Daily Prophet journalist could get stressful, and it was not unusual for her to pick up and disappear to one of her family's numerous "country homes," which were spread throughout four continents. And like Hermione, Pansy knew that said job would be waiting for her as soon as she returned. There was simply _no one else_ with the Parkinson connections. Besides, Pansy did not actually need the money at all- it just wouldn't do for her to do nothing with her life.

As she threw her high-quality robes haphazardly into a large, red, alligator-skin trunk, Pansy had a specific destination in mind. The Parkinsons' villa in Tuscany was the perfect place to escape to. No one knew about it- it wasn't near any wizarding communities, so it was an easily kept secret. When she was there she wasn't the (was it _famous_ or _infamous_, she could never be sure…) Pansy Parkinson- she was just the rich Briton who vacationed up the hill. She enjoyed the anonymity of it, if only for a short time.

But this plan was not meant to be. When she tapped the door of the villa with her wand and muttered the words to open it, having just apparated with her trunk at her feet, it didn't budge. At first she thought that she had confused it with the ones for the Paris suite, and she tried a few different options, but soon enough she realized that it really was not working. Seething, she began to turn on her heel and apparate, intending to go retrieve the new code from her mother and give her a piece of her mind in the process.

"Not so fast, darling." Speak of the devil. Violet Parkinson was a regal sort of woman- always had been able to command a crowd. She was wearing long, sheer pajamas with a matching set of robes and a wide-brimmed sunhat, and she held some sort of firewhiskey and lime related cocktail in her hand as she walked from the back porch around to the front of the house.

"You changed the lock!" Pansy accused.

"I know, honey. That was on purpose."

"But how did you know I'd be coming?" she demanded.

"I raised you. And I think it's high time you had some grandchildren for me to raise as well."

Pansy huffed indignantly, but she knew there was nothing she could do- her mother's word was law.

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Padma Patil was alone. She usually was, after all. Being an Unspeakable working in the Department of Mysteries of the Ministry of Magic was, by nature, a lonely profession. Before the war, loneliness had been a foreign sensation to Padma. Now, however, it was her constant companion.

But according to the very Ministry she worked for, Padma Patil was no longer permitted to suffer through her loneliness in relative peace. Rather, she was to find someone to have and to hold- someone to have and hold her- for as long as she lived. She was to start a family; she was to bear loud, happy little children who would run around and laugh and call her mother. How could she?

Like many others, Padma contemplated leaving the country- going to stay with her remaining relatives in India, perhaps- but the idea was dismissed virtually the moment it crossed her mind. Soft-spoken, clever Padma would never do such a thing. Nor could she leave her job. People said she was crazy, insane for enjoying what she did (_and how would they know_, she thought, _since I can't tell them what it is that I'm doing?_), but it was the one thing she lived for. The thing that made her get up every morning. It challenged her, it surprised her every day and it was, in a way, as peaceful and serene as she had trained her insides to be.

Alone. It wasn't how Padma was meant to be, but it was how Voldemort and his followers had made her. And her previous life was so far in the past that she could no longer imagine herself any other way.

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George Weasley smiled genuinely for the first time that day as his little sister walked into the joke shop.

He had almost given up Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes when the war was over. He had almost not had the courage to reopen without his twin by his side. But Gin had given him that courage by taking their brother's place and reopening it with him, and now she worked at the shop with him part-time when she wasn't managing the Harpies (why she wasn't _playing_ for the Harpies is a story for another time).

He enveloped her in his arms as she walked in the door that day, but she had a questioning look as they broke apart.

"Have you spoken to mum yet?" she asked.

"No, but I expect I can guess what she'd say," George placed his hands on his hips exaggeratedly, "_It's high time the three of you got married and started procreating. I don't have enough grandchildren!_"

Ginny laughed at the impression. "Yeah, that was basically it. Except she referred to the _five_ of us- Harry and Hermione included. Looks like she isn't going to have much luck with that though, because Hermione at least is planning on moving to New York for the time being. And I'm going with her."

"Over my dead body you are. For once I agree with mum, Gin. This is a good thing, at least in your case. You need to get over Harry and move on already."

"I'm already over Harry! Have been for _months_ now! We're just friends, and that's fine with both of us. And what gives you the right to stop me from escaping to the States?"

"Perhaps I don't have that right, but mum does. I know you haven't told her about this little plan of yours, because if you had you'd be in St. Mungo's for some major hex-repair."

Ginny's face fell. "Uch, I know. I'm kidding myself, aren't I? It's never gonna happen, I'd be in _so_ much trouble."

"Yep. I was kind of joking about Harry, but I really do think that you should see the silver lining. If you weren't being forced, Merlin knows how long it would take you!"

"I could say the same for you, brother dearest. When was the last time you went out on a date?"

"Two weeks ago I took Alicia out for dinner"

"Not as a _date_. We all know by now that you and her are never going to happen."

"True. You win."

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Luna Lovegood had always had an _interesting _perspective on life. Although she hadn't lost much to the war (never having had much to begin with), it had brought about a sort of loss of innocence if you will. Most people viewed this "calling down to earth" of Luna Lovegood as a rather expected sort of thing- _they always knew she would come to her senses_- but a select few mourned the mellowing out of her personality because of the reasons behind it.

But Luna Lovegood was still Luna Lovegood; there was no doubt about that. She kept to herself and continued publishing her father's magazine, _The Quibbler_, out of her parlor and growing various exotic plants in her backyard. She hadn't spoken to anyone from Hogwarts in years, not since Neville Longbottom was killed in the war.

Being Luna, she had a different reaction than most to the Ministry's letter. Turning to Trevor, the wizened old toad that had once been Neville's rambunctious pet, she remarked that she knew something like this would happen and that now seemed like a good time to hold a reunion. Whether this was because she wanted to see all her old acquaintances or because she didn't trust them to find spouses on their own remains to be seen, but the important thing is that she sent out the invitations that same day.

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_January 17th, 2007  
_From the Desk of Luna Lovegood  
_Funny that it says that, I never do use a desk. It was a gift.  
Anyway, I've decided it's time for a reunion so I am going to host one. It will be a week from Sunday at my place. That's January 28th, I believe. I'm inviting everyone in my year and the one above at Hogwarts, and you are all welcome to bring guests. Please do come, I think we should all catch up._

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_Luna, dear, how lovely to hear from you!  
I'm terribly sorry I will be unable to attend next Sunday, as I will be out of the country.  
I would love to chat with you though, so I'll drop you a line when I get back._

_Thanks again, Sincerely,  
Hermione Granger_

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**Just letting you know- I'm going on vacation to Paris and Iceland for most of July, so there will be a sort of break in updating. I'll write in a notebook there though, so I'll just have to type and post when I get back. I'm leaving on July 4****th****, so we'll see how many chapters I can get out before then.**

**Now to show your appreciation for that rather quick update, REVIEW!**


	3. Draco:Hermione

**A/N: I only got ONE measly review on chapter two, after getting six on chapter one. What's up with that, guys? Did you all leave the country (and by "the country" I mean whatever country your computer is in)?**

**It'll be short chappies from now on because that's how I like to write and because I'm generally going to be focusing on one couple at a time. This one belongs to Hermione and Draco, but they might have some trouble sharing it… ;-)**

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Hermione spread out on the cheap motel sheets and unfolded the Sunday copy of the New York Times. If she was going to be here for any length of time, she needed a more permanent place of residence. Highlighting a few possible options, she stuffed the page she needed into her purse and grabbed her scarf as she left to start exploring.

She made a valiant attempt to conquer the subway system and got lost twice before giving up and taking a cab into midtown, marveling at the fact that so many people seemed to be able to effortlessly navigate where Hermione Granger, war hero and top of her class at Hogwarts, could not. After giving herself a short tour of the must-see touristy spots in the city, she settled herself in a café with the subway map to come up with the easiest way to visit all her prospective temporary homes in one afternoon.

By the time she collapsed on the bed once more that evening, she had visited all but one and was hoping that that one would be at least decent, as none of the others had been to her taste. The one right across the bridge in Brooklyn was nice, but she'd really rather be in Manhattan.

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Decent was a serious understatement. As Hermione stood on the uneven cobblestones in her heels and looked up at the charming little townhouse, she had to check the paper in her hand to make sure the address was correct. It was.

The three-story building was located in Soho, an area of the city that Hermione had immediately fallen in love with as she explored it that morning. It was absolutely beautiful, with ivy curling up the elegant façade and large wooden doors, obviously very old. It was pricy too, but Hermione was not short of cash and she was willing to spend it. She walked up the short set of steps and pressed the buzzer lightly.

"Who is it?" A woman's voice answered. Hermione leaned in to speak.

"Hermione Granger, here about the apartment…"

"Oh, sure. Come right in." The door buzzed as she entered.

"Hello, I'm Gloria Jones. Sorry, what did you say your name was?"

"Hermione Granger."

"So you're from the U.K.?" the petite woman asked conversationally as she led Hermione into the foyer of the second floor apartment, "You know this is a month-to-month sublet, right? I can't promise you the next year or whatever…"

"Yes, I'm not planning on being in the States for too long anyway." Hermione was looking around in awe. The place was comfortably furnished with simple, modern furniture, and it had a reasonable amount of space and a large bathtub, which was always a plus.

"Right, well, this is pretty much it. Someone else owns the lower floor- middle-aged man, pretty well off, not there that often- but I'm renting out the top floor too, so if you'd like to see that… it's really more of the same, so it comes down to whether you'd rather be on the second or third."

"This is great, actually, I think I'll take this one. Can I have it for these next two months?"

"Yes, I think that can be arranged… what's your phone number?"

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Draco settled himself in one of the silk-upholstered armchairs in his hotel suite and unfolded the Sunday copy of the New York Times. If he was going to be here for any length of time, he needed a more permanent place of residence. After scanning the page for the most expensive one-bedroom on the list (assuming, rather accurately, that it would also be the best), he tore off that bit and stuffed it into the pocket of his expensively-cut suit. He was partial to Armani when wearing muggle clothing.

"I hope you don't mind being on the top floor, because I just rented out the second," the woman- Grace, was it?- said as they ascended the narrow staircase, "a British woman, actually, and about your age too. What a coincidence." The edges of Draco's lips turned up at this, knowing that she was probably a witch and wondering briefly if she was attractive. He was here to have fun, after all.

Gloria was a bit unsettled by this man- he was good-looking, but in a very cold, aristocratic sort of way, and he didn't speak as he walked around the apartment. But a renter was a renter, and he certainly looked like he could afford this place and then some. It wasn't going cheap, and in times like these it was tough to find people who had that kind of money to spend on this kind of place.

Draco was, indeed, silent as he looked around. It would need to be refurnished, he decided, but that would be relatively simple. It had a nice location, and a skylight too.

"I'll take it."

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Hermione had finally finished hanging up her clothes and was about to flick on the television when the phone rang. She reached to pick it up, knowing it must be Gloria because no one she knew used the telephone or knew this number.

Sure enough, the woman's perky voice greeted her as she said hello.

"Hermione, so glad you're home- I just wanted to let you know that I've rented the upstairs apartment out to a man about you're age, tall, blond- so you'll likely see him around. Oh, and I forgot to tell you that the mailbox on the right is yours; the left is his now."

"Thank you for letting me know, Gloria. Is that all?"

"Yes, yes, I won't bother you anymore. You know where to reach me if you need anything, right?"

"Yes, I wrote down the number. Thank you!"

"You're very welcome. Have a good evening!"

Hermione smiled as she hung up the phone. She'd have to go introduce herself tomorrow. She was looking forward to meeting some people who didn't know who she was.

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**Poor 'Mione is in for a big surprise…**

**Please, please REVIEW! If you write, then you know what I'm talking about when I say that we fanfiction authors live on reviews. Special thanks to Kat.1600 for being the only one who bothered to review last chapter. **


	4. Ginny:Blaise

**A/N: Okay, three reviews. I can work with that.**

**This is not definitely but probably the last update for a while. I'm afraid I won't be able to post while I'm on vacation for the next three and a half weeks or so, but I'll try to get a chapter out quickly when I get back. If I'm not on your Story/Author Alert, try checking around the thirtieth.**

**Dianna- Yeah, different was definitely what I was going for.**

**This chappie is Ginny and Blaise's.**

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Blaise Zabini smiled as he untied the official-looking note from the leg of a haggard-looking tawny owl. This was so unlike him, really, this whole matchmaking thing, but perhaps it could really work out. It was worth a try, wasn't it? He handed the owl a cracker before sending it off and cutting open the letter's Ministry seal.

Ministry of Magic: January 22nd 2007

_Dear Mr. Zabini,_

_We have received your application and have found a possible match for you. _

_She is a pureblood witch who describes herself as having a good sense of humor and loving Quidditch. _('Sounds like my type,' Blaise thought)

_We have arranged for you to meet…_

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… _at a reception for Ministry matches on Wednesday, January 24__th__. Please arrive at 5:30 p.m. to pick up name tags and find your prospective match. If you cannot make the reception, please write to your match using the owl who brought this letter. _

_Thank you for your interest in our matchmaking program._

_Amelie Brout, Marriage Offices_

Ginny held the letter for a moment, shocked. Then she grabbed a fistful of floo powder off her mantle.

"MUM!"

"Oh, hello Ginny dea—" Ginny's withering glare stopped Molly mid-sentence.

"YOU did this, didn't you?" She held out the slightly crumpled letter.

"Okay, yes, but before you—"

"What on _God's great earth_ made you think this was in any way a good idea?"

"I knew you wouldn't do it yourself…"

"So you applied for me? You know why I wouldn't do it? Because I don't want a freaking blind date through magic-match-dot-com!"

"What's—"

"Muggle thing, Hermione… ah, I'm going off topic. There's no way I'm going to this thing, though. Too bad for Mr. Funny-Quidditch-Guy. I'm sure he's _wonderful_, but I'm going to write him right now and tell him I'm not coming."

"Oh, Ginevra, please…" Molly began, but Ginny was already halfway through the floo.

When she arrived back at her flat, however, she was distracted by a rather stupid-looking owl that was bumping into her kitchen window repeatedly. Opening the window, she let the poor bird in and gave it a treat while it recovered. She looked down at the roll of parchment fastened to its leg and detached it carefully. It hadn't been wax-sealed, but simply tied with a strip of navy blue satin ribbon. Carefully sliding the ribbon off, she stuffed it into her pocket to be used as a hair tie later and unrolled the curious letter.

_Mystery girl-_

_Yes, this thing is kind of stupid, but I figured I'd try it out just because I hadn't any better ideas, and I'd assume that the same is true for you. _('not quite' Ginny thought…)

_I could make that reception thing if you really wanted to go, but I'd rather just create our own meeting at a bar in muggle London tonight around half past eight. What do you say? You don't have to answer now- I'll be there regardless of whether you're coming or not. It's called Village East, on Bermondsey street. I'll be the tall, dark, and handsome guy at the bar wearing a white and blue striped button down and navy slacks._

_See you there, hopefully._

It was unsigned. Ginny couldn't help but smile very slightly at the note. She had to admit, he sounded like a nice guy. She wasn't so sure now that she wanted to skip the meeting. Hesitating a moment, she folded up the parchment and stuffed it into her pocket to think about later.

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Blaise tapped his fingers on the bar and ordered another scotch. He had long come to terms with the fact that Mystery girl was not going to show. It was 10:00, and he was feeling rather tipsy at this point.

Suddenly, he was woken from his drunken stupor by the unnecessarily loud opening of the door to his right. Looking up, he saw a rather attractive woman in her twenties enter the bar. She was very pale and very wet, dragging an inside-out umbrella behind her. It was raining for the fiftieth time that week. The woman tossed the umbrella into the trash can in the corner with a disgusted look on her face and ran her hand through her thick, flaming red hair. Wait…

"Ginny Weasley?"

"Yes. Oh… Blaise Zabini, that's it, right?"

"Yeah. This isn't going to work, is it?"

"Nope, doubt it."

Blaise turned back to his drink. It wasn't that he still kept old prejudices; it was just that the two of them were worlds apart. It could never work, simple as that. To his surprise, Ginny settled herself one stool away from him and ordered an apple martini.

"You're staying?"

She turned to stare at him. "I came all the way here, it's still raining, I don't even have a boyfriend and I'm supposed to get fucking married in less than two months. I think I deserve a drink."

"Fair enough."

She practically downed the delicate little cocktail in one gulp when the bartender brought it over.

"What I really need is some firewhiskey."

"Try vodka, straight up," Blaise offered. She followed his advice.

"Where were you… during the war…?" she asked a few minutes later after her third or fourth drink, her speech a bit slurred. Blaise knew what she meant- had he been beneath a Deatheater mask.

"In Australia, actually."

"Really?"

"Yep. I decided to stay out of it."

"Oh. Well, I guess that's better than…" she trailed off, and Blaise nodded and looked down at the amber liquid in his glass once more.

"I kind of feel bad about that. I've since learned that fleeing the country is not the way to deal with things." The corners of Ginny's mouth turned up ever so slightly. They sat in silence for a long while.

"So you like Quidditch?" Blaise asked awkwardly, wanting to start again on a lighter topic.

"I manage the Hollyhead Harpies." Ginny replied flatly.

"I should really stay on top of these things. Why aren't you playing? You were pretty good back at Hogwarts, if I remember correctly."

"Thanks. That's actually a long story involving jealousy, a debilitating knee injury, and Marcus Flint. An old buddy of yours?"

"Actually, I always hated the guy."

"Very funny."

"No, really. You know just because we're both Slytherins doesn't mean we have to like each other. I'm sure there were some people in Gryffindor who you couldn't stand."

Ginny coughed something that sounded vaguely like "Lavender Brown" and smiled.

"I better get going," she slurred later, "but it was… nice… talking to you…"

"No way."

"No way?"

"You may be a Weasley, but I'm still taking you home. You're drunk as an Irishman on St. Patrick's day."

"Wha's that supposed to mean? And you're drunk too…"

"Not half as drunk as you. Where's your flat?"

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Ginevra Weasley woke up the next morning with the worst hangover she'd had since after she and Harry had broken up and no idea how she had made it home. She did vaguely remember what had brought her to the bar in the first place, and she abruptly realized that Blaise must have taken her back at the end of the night. Sure enough, she found a note from him and a small, dark blue glass bottle waiting on her kitchen counter.

_Drink up, I promise it won't make it worse this time. It's a secret that was passed on from my ungodly mother to me when I came of age and started going out to pubs with Draco._

_Shit, I probably shouldn't mention him around you, should I?_

_Blaise_

Chuckling a bit before realizing that it made her head hurt, Ginny pulled the glass stopper out and sniffed the contents of the bottle. She contemplated checking for poison, but her pounding headache overruled her suspicions of former Slytherins and she downed the thick potion in one gulp. Her entire body suddenly felt pleasantly numb, and she grabbed the nearest quill and a scrap of parchment.

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_Alright, you've got to give me the recipe for that stuff. Write it down and bring it when you come with me to Luna's party next week. Knowing Luna I'd hazard a guess that she actually invited you, but if not than the info is on the attached paper. I promise I won't drink this time. Well, maybe one firewhiskey. But only one, I swear._

_Ginny_

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_She did actually invite me. I did think that was a bit strange. I wasn't going to go, but I suppose I will now. See you there._

_Blaise_

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**Have a lovely July, everyone! Good news is, I'm home for the next two days or so AND I will be able to get internet access for brief periods of time while on vacation, so I'll be able to read all your reviews (-:**

**So hurry up and review already!**


	5. Harry:Pansy

**A/N: Heeeere's Johnny!**

**That's right, I'm back. And so are Harry and Pansy. Miss 'em?**

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"Harry, I'm going home!" Ron yelled over the music, one arm in front of him to part the crowd near the bar, "I trust you can make it back on your own?" Harry just raised his eyebrows at the well-endowed blonde on his friend's arm and nodded slowly.

"So, how many blondes has he brought home in the past week?" said the woman next to him at the bar sardonically after Ron had made his way out of the club. She was an elegant sort of girl with tanned skin, short brown hair, and immaculately-done makeup.

"Oh, maybe six," Harry replied, "The other was a brunette. Although I think she might've been a blonde originally and was just going for the sophisticated look."

The woman laughed. Harry held out his hand for her to shake.

"I'm—"

"I know who you are."

"Yeah, it figures. Takes all the mystery out of life. I never get to introduce myself."

"Well, just think of how many words you're saving."

"I suppose so. I'm sorry to say that I don't recognize you, though- what's your name?"

"Take a few good guesses. I went to Hogwarts when you did. Didn't really hang out with your crowd, though."

"A Slytherin, then." Pansy smirked. She had to hand it to him, that was quick. She told him as much.

"Are you… Daphne Greengrass?"

"Nope."

"Millicent Bulstrode?"

"God no."

"Were you even in my year?"

"Maybe, maybe not."

"That's not fair, I really didn't know the names of Slytherins who weren't in my year unless they were on the Quidditch team."

"That's your problem, isn't it? I have to go, Harry." Pansy suddenly felt like she'd rather not Harry know who she was.

"Wait," Harry called, "I still don't know who you are…" but she had already left.

Harry was intrigued. This Slytherin woman hadn't given him the _OhMyGodIt'sHarryPotter_ reaction that he got from most women or the _IHateYouWithEveryFiberOfMyBeing,HarryPotter_ reaction that he got from most Slytherins. She most definitely was not one of his few close (and very platonic) friends, but she shared the unique quality of theirs- she treated him like a normal human being.

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_RRRinnng. Crash. "Ouch". _"What?"

"Pansy? Is this a bad time?"

"No, no- Who's speaking?"

"Harry Potter. Remember, Tuesday night—"

"_shit."_

"What was that?"

"Uh, how did you find me?"

"Saw a current picture in Ginny's tabloid. I never would have recognized you; you've really changed since school."

"Jeez, I got my nose fixed, okay? You would too if you looked like a—"

"Hey, calm down. I really don't care what you did with your nose. You look good, that's all."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

"Well, what I called for is… well, do you want to, um, get a coffee sometime?" Pansy was taken aback. She had never been one with low self-esteem, but still- she hadn't expected _Harry Potter_ to want to spend time with _her_. Well, not once he knew who she was.

"Sure, I guess."

"Great. I'll be at the Ministry on Friday, and the prophet offices aren't far."

"Okay, Friday it is. I'm free around nine?"

"Nine, then. Would you mind going to a muggle café? Fewer people stare at me there."

"Sure, yes, why would I mind? The one around the corner- it's called Gemma's Coffee, right?"

"Yeah, that's the one. See you there."

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**A/N: "Don't Pass Me By, don't make me cry, don't paint me blue, 'cause you know darling I love only you…" Yes, that song is the soundtrack for the following bit. Credit to Ringo and the rest of the Beatles.**

Harry sipped his espresso at the back table of the café, one eye carefully trained on the door as he tried to appear nonchalant. He betrayed his act when the couple at the small round table in front of him got up to leave, obstructing his view, and he leaned to the left to keep the entrance within his line of sight. Fortunately no one was looking. Finally, he drained the last of the coffee and got up, kicked his chair back into place, and walked briskly out into the street feeling rather irritated.

Why on earth had he ever wanted to meet _Pansy Parkinson_ for coffee anyway? He just _knew_ there was something fishy about the situation… he should've realized she would stand him up.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly bumped into a short, balding man standing near the end of the block. He was just looking up to _politely_ ask him not to stop in the middle of the sidewalk when he noticed that there was a whole crowd assembled on the curb, spilling into the street. Standing on his toes (and being rather tall as is), Harry was able to see a Jaguar convertible in the midst of all the people. It appeared to be a pedestrian-vehicle accident. His notorious curiosity getting the better of him, he made his way inconspicuously around the crowd to get a better look.

On the upside, Pansy hadn't stood him up after all.

Harry pushed through the crowd a bit more violently and knelt down next to her prone form.

"Did someone call an ambulence?" he yelled. One of the women on the inside ring of the circle answered that she had. Harry took a closer look at Pansy. Her pulse was fine; she was out cold, but she didn't have any visible head injuries. Her left arm was bent at an odd angle- probably broken.

The crowd dissipated quickly as the ambulance arrived. Harry hopped into the vehicle after Pansy's stretcher without a second thought.

"You a friend of this girl's?" one of the paramedics inquired. Harry blinked, then gave the noncommittal answer.

"She was walking down that street to meet me for coffee," he said, and then he was left to listen to his thoughts and the wailing of the siren.

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**Hehe, gotta love the drama. I'll probably be updating **_**Repentance**_** tomorrow- I got a crazy new idea for that while I was on vacation (lucky I did, because I sort of didn't know what the hell I was doing after I wrote that first chapter in like ten minutes), and I'm excited to get it going, but I felt that I owed the first update to **_**Unlikely Places**_**. So, do I get a reward for that? How about… oh, I don't know, maybe some REVIEWS? (-:**


	6. Draco:Hermione II

**A/N: I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry! I've been sooo much busier lately than I thought I would be, and I'm juggling two fics at the same time **_**and**_** trying to work on my novel. This is way shorter than even **_**I**_** like my chapters to be, but I felt like I had to post something and I couldn't fit in anymore. **

**In terms of what's actually going on- I'm going to end up spending more time on Draco and Hermione than on the other couples, so this chappie returns to them even though we haven't gone through all the pairs yet.**

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Hermione Granger's long, notorious hair fell into her face, shading it from view as she searched her rather large brown leather handbag for the keys to her new flat. It dripped rainwater down her back and shoulders, and she edged yet closer to the door, trying to shield herself under the slight overhang. Suddenly she heard a voice from behind her, accompanied by the jangling of keys.

"You must be the girl on the second floor. Here, I've got it." Hermione moved slightly to the side to allow the man access to the lock and turned around to thank him and tell him how she had been meaning to say hi. When she met his eye, both of them froze.

"_You_?"

"_You_?"

"When she told me you were a Brit about my age I figured you were a witch, but…"

"Well. Us living together is just _not_ going to work."

Draco snorted. "Us living—"

"Don't even say it; you know what I meant."

"So, then, you move out."

"I'm not moving out; I love this place!"

"So do I. Besides, I've already had it refurnished. I'm not going anywhere."

"Well, then, we'll just have to learn to be civil with one another."

"Actually, if my memory of the past five minutes is correct, you were the one being uncivil. Now, if it's alright with you, I'd like to get in out of the rain." Hermione, suddenly coming to the realization that they were both thoroughly drenched, still remembered to look at Draco suspiciously as he chivalrously held the door open. It did not swing shut in her face.

Once inside, she logically went over the encounter in her head, realizing with a start that aside from the rather inevitable comment on the sexual connotation of "living together" Malfoy had not insulted her or made any other distasteful comment. In fact, he had been positively _pleasant_ before discovering who she was.

She looked up to see that he had left her to think, and was halfway up the stairs to his flat.

"Fine, Malfoy. Point taken." She called up to him. He stuck his head out and looked down at her, a slightly softened version of the smirk she remembered appearing on his lips.

"Don't you think we're past last names, _Hermione_?" He said, and then he disappeared.

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Draco was not, of course, seeking to befriend the female member of the trio just to heal old wounds. He had made a vague attempt at that once, back when he had been with the Light at the end of the war, but the farthest he'd ever gotten was tense, businesslike speaking terms. She had always seemed to know that he wasn't actually committed to the cause- even when Harry began to trust him- and now it seemed like she was back to the usual clipped tones she used with him.

No, Draco was not hoping for a lasting companionship. He was, like any other man, hoping for sex.

It had been way back when he had first gone over to the Light that he had noticed Hermione as more than the pain-in-the-ass he'd had to deal with at school. She had certainly grown up in the years they had been on opposite sides of the battle, and her fiery personality and wit to match his own were undeniably intriguing. In hindsight, he found her bushy chestnut locks to be rather sexy in a homely, warm way, and had often wondered what it would be like to bury his hands or face in them. And yes, he had also often wondered what she'd be like in bed.

Draco Malfoy had a mission. And if he had to be nice to get it accomplished, well, he'd do what he had to do. After all, he was here to have some fun.

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**I know I don't deserve much for that teeny little chapter, but please please review! They keep me going.**


	7. George:Padma

**A/N: Okay, I know it's been taking me a while between updates ever since I got back from vacation. The good news for you guys is that I've put my other fic, "Repentance", on hold until I finish this one. I've realized that I need to focus on one thing at a time, so that's what I'm going to do. That means more frequent updates! YAY! Enjoy the Georgie-Padma goodness.**

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George Weasley looked both ways before entering the small shop on Knockturn Alley and perusing the shelves quite quickly, eventually laying eyes on the Egyptian Viper-venom paste that he had come for. He had taken to wearing an old fedora perched jauntily to one side to cover most of that half of his head, seeing as children tended to get very upset when they saw a man without an ear and he did, after all, own a joke shop. Besides, he had always hated the questions from the few people who didn't know the story. The one downside to this method was that it limited his peripheral vision to a certain extent and that was why, as he turned to make his way towards the apothecary's desk with his purchase, he crashed headlong into a short young woman with flowing dark hair.

"I'm terribly sorry," he said, gripping her elbow to steady her. She looked up.

"It's alright. George Weasley, correct?"

"Yes. And you are…"

"Padma Patil. I was in your younger brother's year at Hogwarts."

"Yes, I do think I remember you," George said, nodding.

"Hey," Padma gestured to the jar in George's hand, "Where did you find that?"

"Over there," George said, pointing her over to the spot in the overstuffed shelves. She grabbed a jar casually and followed him to the man at the counter. He waited for her as she paid and hid her purchase inside her large canvas bag, holding the door for her on her way out.

"What d'ya need that for?" he inquired as he fell into step beside her.

"Confidential," she replied, "Ministry business. I'm an Unspeakable."

"Really, now? But I'm speaking to you!"

She ckuckled slightly in response.

"That was a pretty bad joke. I hope I'm not losing my touch."

"And what do you need such an unusual ingredient for, Mr. Weasley?"

"George, please. And it's confidential. W.W.W. business." He smirked.

She smiled kindly. "Alright, then." There was an awkward pause- neither of the two seemed to know what to say to the other. Reaching the dazzling hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley, George turned to Padma.

"Have you ever checked out my joke shop?" he asked.

"I'm sorry to say I haven't. I'm not necessarily joke shop inclined…" she began, but he had already pulled her in through the wide open glass doors.

Padma looked around, wide-eyed, at the sights and sounds that reached her senses. The shop was organized in a rainbow of brightly-colored packaging, each type of product given its own hue so that the shelving formed a full spectrum along the walls. The reds and pinks of the girly love potions and daydream charms lined the wall by the entrance, fading into the oranges and yellows denoting trick candies. Small tables arranged in the center of the glittering white floor were topped with unpackaged products, emitting all manner of squeaking, beeping, and whirring noises as a ribbon printed with the words "TRY ME!" and a downward-pointing arrow swirled around overhead.

"Padma?"

"Wha—" she said, breaking out of her stupor and spinning around before realizing that George was calling her. He chuckled quietly and beckoned her over to the long white lacquered desk in the back, where a crimson-haired woman- evidently his sister- was leaning back in a violently purple swivel chair.

"Padma, this is my sister, Ginny. She mans the shop when I'm not here."

"Hello. I remember you, from the D.A. in my fifth year."

"Yeah. You had a great hurling hex."

Padma smiled. "Thank you. Would you mind if I took a look around?" George nodded and watched as she started walking along the shelves, occasionally picking up a box to read the description. He was distracted, however, when Ginny pulled him down towards the counter by his collar the second she was out of earshot.

"So, you two seem to be getting along famously. When's the date?"

George rolled his eyes. "I didn't ask her out, we just met at the apothecary in Knockturn Alley."

"Well, here's your chance, go ask her!"

"I don't know if she's my type. She said she isn't joke shop inclined."

"Actually, I think you've converted her." George looked up just as a piercing screech filled the room and a cloud of pink ink erupted in Padma's face. He rushed to her side, shooting a jet of purple light from his wand that immediately silenced the offending toy.

"I'm so sorry!" he apologized, cleaning her blouse with a wave of his wand, "I'm afraid I should have warned you it's try at your own risk with some of those―" He stopped when he noticed Padma's jubilant laughter. George stared as she slowly calmed down.

"Say, George," Padma said when her giggles finally quieted, "would you like to have lunch with me some time?"

"Uh, sure, I guess..." George said slowly, his brow furrowed.

"Owl me."

"I will," he replied, staring dumbfounded as she left the shop, unsure what exactly had happened.

Ginny, having witnessed the entire exchange, just quietly smirked to herself.

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**So, what did y'all think? Please review!**


	8. Draco:Hermione III

**A/N: I'm really, really sorry that this update is so much later than I thought it would be. You know how it is when school starts… Anyway, I'm going to stop making promises, because I really don't know when I'm going to have time anymore. But I did write a good long one this time!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Dramione4Lyf, because it was her voice (well, typewritten words, really) in my head telling me that I needed to get my act together and write it.**

**P.S. French translations in bracketed italics at the end of the sentence. If any of you speak French and notice a mistake, please do correct me!**

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Hermione had her back to the door, writing out a message from someone on the phone, when Draco walked into the shop. Hearing the soft jingling of the bell attached to the door, she tapped the other morning employee on the shoulder and gestured blindly behind her towards the new customer.

Draco, despite not having caught sight of her face, could tell from her mane of bushy curls that he was in for another bizarrely coincidental encounter with his former classmate. Deciding to surprise her, he brushed off the other employee and ducked into the stacks.

Hermione had taken the morning shift at the local boutique-bookshop-slash-café. She didn't need the money, and it was a pittance anyway, but she got a bit stir crazy with nothing to do but blow her money on things she didn't need, and she liked talking to customers about her favorite _muglit _(muggle literature). She only worked until one, so she still had all afternoon to laze around and do whatever she fancied.

Draco, under the guise of reading the book titles, listened carefully to Hermione's conversation.

"Yes, we are open on Sundays. We do close at six, though. Yes, eight o' clock Monday through Friday. Yes, I'll hold a copy for you. I know they're selling fast. I'll be here if you come in the morning. Ask for Minnie. You'll be in tomorrow? Ok. Thank you. You're welcome. Bye-bye." Draco heard her sigh as she hung up the phone. He turned back to the shelf, grabbing a book almost randomly and glancing at it as he sauntered up to the front desk just to make sure it wasn't anything embarrassing.

"You again?" the brunette exclaimed in surprise as he neared the counter.

"Morning, Minnie," he replied, nodding seriously, but he couldn't stop the corner of his mouth turning up in a barely perceptible smirk. Hermione scowled.

"It's easier than having all these American muggles mispronounce my name. You can't honestly say you've been telling cashiers at Starbucks your name is _Draco_."

"I brew my own coffee. Starbucks is too weak."

"If you get the iced espresso it's not bad," she said absentmindedly. Wait, had she just indirectly agreed with Malfoy? She shook her head. "Anyway, I'd never pin you as a fan of muggle literature." She reached for the super thin paperback in his hand. _Le Schapchandre et le Papillion_, the title read- The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, by Jean-Dominique Bauby. She loved that book.

"To the contrary, _Minnie_," Draco replied, pulling a worn, black leather billfold out of his back jeans pocket. She hated the way he said it, mockingly, like he was poking fun at the Disney character. "I find that muggle authors tend to put more thought into their art."

"You read French?" she asked curiously. Draco snorted.

"Il était ma première langue," he rattled off, in perfect accent. He couldn't resist showing off a bit. (_It was my first language_)

"I should've figured as much. Good choice, by the way," she remarked as she handed the book back to him in a small plastic bag.

"You've read it? _I_ should've figured as much. Parlez vous français aussi?" he raised an eyebrow as he said this, grinning. (_You speak French too?_)

"Of course," she replied. This was not untrue- Hermione had taught herself relatively good French and Spanish in her free time (she was fluent in Latin, but that was a bit of a given for her job). She hadn't bothered to work her way through the French copy of _Diving Bell_ as was implied, however, instead favoring the English translation. Now she somehow wished that she had challenged herself a bit more, just so she could honestly say she had.

"You know," Draco began, removing the paperback from its plastic bag and handing it back to her before tucking the book into his jacket pocket, "we just had a real conversation with virtually no insults. When do you get off work?"

"Uh, 1:00, why?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Let's grab a bite to eat. I know this great restaurant just a few blocks away." Hermione opened her mouth, but was struck silent by Draco's index finger meeting her lips.

"Shh," he said as he leaned over the counter, "let's not ruin our first civil conversation. I'll be back to pick you up after work." And he left with a jingle of the bell, disappearing before she could gather her wits enough to respond. Her hand lifted of its own accord to brush its fingertips across her mouth as she stared at the closed door.

"Who's _he_, Minnie?" asked her coworker, Sarah, in a singsong voice.

"Oh!" said Hermione, finally shaken out of her stupor, "just an old… acquaintance… from home."

"Looks like more than a casual acquaintance to me!"

"You have no idea..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing."

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Hermione left work a few minutes early in an attempt to avoid her new neighbor, but found him waiting outside for her with a glint in his eye that said all too clearly that he knew her far better than she thought.

"We'll just go around here and apparate- It's a bit cold for a walk. Here- just grab my arm--" Hermione, resigned to the apparent moment of craziness she was experiencing, awkwardly took hold of Draco's sleeve. When they arrived at the restaurant and walked in out of the cold, Hermione started feeling quite dazed. She barely noticed being helped out of her coat or hearing Draco give the woman at the desk the name for their reservation.

The room was massive, with obscenely high ceilings and thick columns positioned throughout. In front of her were stairs leading up to a raised dining area, which she ascended after a gentle prod from Draco. To her left was a long bar with thick granite-slab countertop, backlit bottles of multicolored liquors lining the wall up to the ceiling. They were led to the right, however, up a few wide steps into another raised dining area, and seated at a small round table with a crisp, white tablecloth near the gargantuan windows.

"_What_ are you doing?" Hermione hissed across the table when she finally regained the ability to speak.

"Why, taking you out to lunch, of course," Draco responded, not looking up from his perusal of the menu. Hermione decided not to mention the peculiarity of that in itself, focusing instead on the more recent development.

"I mean _here_. You said 'grab a bite'- this place must cost a fortune!"

"It really doesn't, and the dollar's weak. Welcome to Gotham Bar and Grill, my favorite restaurant in the city." Any response Hermione might have come up with was cut off by their waitress arriving with a bottle of wine. She hadn't even noticed Draco order it. She scanned the label- 1986 Chateau La Mission Haut Brion. She wished she knew more about wine, but she assumed from the poorly-hidden grin on the waitress's face as she watched Draco taste it that it wasn't cheap. He nodded approvingly and gestured to Hermione's glass, but she cut in.

"I don't drink," she said uneasily.

"That's a lie," Draco said coolly.

Hermione leaned over so the waitress could not hear and hissed, "I don't drink with _you_."

"Is that any way to treat the man taking you out for a nice lunch?" Draco replied, still calm. He didn't wait for an answer, but turned back to the waitress, whose smile was faltering slightly.

"She will have a small glass," he said. Hermione watched the woman pour, and was smart enough not to embarrass herself by arguing any further.

"I recommend the papardelle with lamb ragout in red wine reduction as a main course." Draco said after the waitress had taken her leave. Hermione said nothing.

"You know, Minnie" he finally said, looking up this time, "you could just relax. You know very well that I can afford all this, and it's not like you're a charity case. You could probably pay for it yourself if you wanted to." There was no trace of bragging in his voice. Hermione nodded slowly, but she wasn't yet sure if she was ready to accept all of it.

Draco ordered for her- the soup of the day (pureed lentil with a pepper-crusted goat cheese crouton and olive oil), the aforementioned papardelle, and the Gotham chocolate cake with orange cream ice cream.

As they waited for their appetizers, Hermione hesitantly took a sip of the wine. Draco looked on with the ghost of a genuine grin playing itself across his features. It was the best wine she had ever tasted.

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**A/N: Gotham is **_**one **_**of my favorite restaurants, although I have been there only a handful of times. That is an accurate description of the setting, and all of Hermione's meal has been tasted by yours truly (the chocolate cake is a staple of their menu, and it's one of the best I've ever had). The wine Draco ordered is 300.00 USD on their current wine list, which is far more than their food would have cost. Gotham is very reasonable for what it is- the prix fix lunch (three courses, like Hermione's meal) is only 24.00 USD a person. Of course, Draco probably wouldn't order the prix fix because he's too much of a snob. Anyway, if you're ever in the city and want a really special lunch, Gotham is the place. You usually don't need a reservation if you're willing to eat at the bar. **

**Please review, everyone!**


	9. Harry:Pansy II

**A/N: I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry… life got in the way. I'm still really busy, but I promised I'd never abandon a fic and I want to keep that promise. This chapter is Harry and Pansy, so you might want to at least reread chapter 5 to refresh your memory.**

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"You couldn't have just oblivated them all and apparated?" Pansy said irritably as Harry accompanied her down the steps in front of the muggle hospital, leading her chivalrously by the elbow not encased in plaster.

"_No_," he replied for what seemed like the seventeenth time, "there was _really_ nothing I could do besides let them treat you. Don't worry, Mungos will have you fixed up in no time and it will only be a half hour out of your day." Pansy shut up, but continues looking annoyed (not to mention nervous that she'd be seen by someone she knew) until they reached the wizarding hospital.

"Broken arm," Pansy said shortly as she reached the front desk, "I'm Pansy Parkinson." Harry had taken a seat at the back to wait for her.

The receptionist glanced up from her paperwork. "Alright Ms. Parkinson, I see you've already been treated at a muggle hospital so you should be fine waiting over there for a bit. We'll get to you in about 45 minutes." Pansy scowled.

"I have places to be in 45 minutes. You can't make it any faster?"

"No, I'm sorry, but we have patients with more urgent injuries. You should be fine with the cast if you would rather make an appointment at a more convenient time." Pansy didn't respond, but let out a huff, turned on one heel, and threw herself into the seat next to Harry.

"I can't _believe_ them!" she complained as she sat down, "it would take a healer like thirty seconds to fix this and they're making me wait!" Harry sighed. This was not how he pictured this date. Perhaps he had been wrong about Pansy—it seemed that she was still the same spoiled brat he knew from school.

"I don't usually do this, but if it'll shut you up… come with me." Harry grabbed Pansy's arm and tugged her up to the front of the room, then turned left. He knocked on an office door a few meters down the hallway.

"Come in!" Pansy heard a man's voice from the inside.

"Healer Marcus? Hello, how have you been? It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"As it should be!" the young, sandy-haired healer said with a grin, "to what do I owe this visit?"

"I'm terribly sorry to bother you, but my… er… date has had an unfortunate accident. Do you think you could do us a favor and fix her arm up for her?" Harry dragged Pansy in front of him.

"Of course, of course! Let me see…" Healer Marcus held Pansy's arm gingerly as he vanished the white cast, then ran his wand from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. In minutes, Harry was thanking the Healer profusely and leading Pansy out of the office.

"Look, Pansy," he began as they returned to the waiting room, "I know you've got places to be, so I'll leave you here. See you around, I guess." Pansy stared blankly at Harry's retreating back, then gathered her wits and ran after him. She caught up in the stairwell, nearly a flight away from the one they had been on. She grabbed Harry's forearm, trying to catch her breath. He turned.

"Harry… I—I'm sorry."

"For what? It's not your fault you were hit by that car."

"No, I mean I'm sorry about… well, everything. About today- I know I was acting like a spoiled brat (I'm working on that), and about how I treated you back at school. I really want to give this a shot, at least. You're just as smart and nice… and handsome… as you were back at Hogwarts, but I want to show you that I've changed more than just my nose. Would you be willing to go for that coffee now?"

"I thought you had places to be?"

Pansy smiled sheepishly. "That's negotiable."

"Alright, how could I turn a girl down after a speech like that? Coffee it is."

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**Hope you guys enjoyed that tidbit— and hopefully I'll be able to update again soon. Can I say I'm sorry one more time?**


	10. George:Padma II

**A/N: Okay guys, this is how it's gonna be: This chappie (George and Padma) is unfortunately short, and I'm not really a fan of most of it. But the last little bit is really good and I don't know any other way to get it there, so sue me. Or just give me advice.**

**But the real point is I'm going to art school for the summer, and I'm leaving tomorrow (back after the second week in August). I have the beginnings of chapter 11 handwritten, but I don't know how easy it will be for me to get to a computer and type it up and post it. I will guarantee an update by mid-August. Until then, hope you like this little bit.**

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Padma,

I apologize for the late owl. I know I've butchered convention here, but I do really want to see you. Do you think you could do dinner on Friday? I could pick you up at seven.

Yours, George.

Well, she thought, she'd have to check her calendar… not.

George-

I would love to see you on Friday night. Seven is fine.

-Padma.

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_Knock. Knock._

"Coming!" Padma scrambled to slam her closet door and nearly tripped over the piles of loose-leaf on her living room floor as she struggled to open the door to her flat and put on the second black stiletto at the same time. She had just managed to find the right shoe box in time, after a good fifteen minutes of searching. It had been a while since she'd worn them.

"Hi!" she said breathlessly as she finally pulled the door open.

"Hi," said George with a grin. He was wearing a sport jacket and dark jeans, his longish cut crimson hair brushing the grey turtleneck underneath. Padma thought he looked dashing.

"You look lovely," he remarked, and she blushed and looked down at her demure but elegant purple cocktail dress. Those heels always did make her feel sexy, Padma had to admit.

"You look quite handsome yourself," she said quietly, gazing up at George while closing the door softly behind her. She hoped he hadn't seen what a mess her flat was.

"Thanks. Shall we?" George held out an arm and led Padma toward the lift.

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"So, George, where do you get all those crazy ideas for your joke shop?" Padma asked as they sat down across from each other, "They're really amazing, you know. I stopped in the other day when Ginny was there."

"Oh, I hope she wasn't telling you embarrassing stories about me!" George chuckled, "well, we—I've been playing tricks and such since I was a kid. W.W.W. seeks to give less experienced pranksters an easy and effective mode of expression. How about your work? What do Unspeakables do, anyway?

"Oh, you know I can't say anything about that! Top secret, George."

George laughed, unsurprised. "Alright, alright. I thought it was worth a try. Do you enjoy it, whatever it is that you do?"

"I do. It's a little pathetic, I guess, but my job is pretty much my life. I really do love it, but it's demanding."

"I know just how you feel," George said, smiling back at Padma before taking a sip of his soup.

The couple continued to make small talk for the rest of the meal. Each of them was strangely distracted and had the distinct feeling that the other wanted desperately to be somewhere else.

George sighed as he helped Padma with her coat and thanked the waitress. They walked silently through a snowy square on their way back, hands deep in the pockets of their coat and eyes directed toward the pavement. Suddenly, George dropped onto a concrete bench and put his head in his hands. Padma sat down beside him, staring at the street lamps across the way.

"This whole evening has been a bit of a charade, hasn't it?" George remarked into his hands. He rubbed his forehead and then raised his eyes. "There's an elephant- or rather, a twin- in the room." Padma turned her head slightly toward him.

"This whole time, I was thinking that perhaps you could be the one person who could understand, could empathize rather than sympathize. I didn't know how to bring up the subject, or even if I really wanted to. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Because I don't think I've looked at you once as Padma. I think this whole evening, it was all about Parvati, wasn't it?"

Padma was quiet for a moment. "Maybe this isn't meant to be," she said softly, "maybe we're only here because we think we should be. Or maybe—" George turned to look her in the eyes.

"—Maybe we could try this again, start over- as George and Padma, instead of Fred's twin and Parvati's twin. They'd want us to."

And George took Padma's face in both of his calloused hands and kissed her and pulled her to him, and tears ran down their cheeks.

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**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW 3**


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